Epilogue
Genevieve
FOURTEEN MONTHS LATER
I glide a hand down the front of my long silk dress, my blood-red fingernails getting lost in the fabric of the same shade as I smooth out all the wrinkles.
“You look beautiful.”
Glancing up, I find Corinne smiling sweetly at me, her hand rubbing absently over the most adorable baby bump I’ve ever seen. “And you’re glowing.”
She shakes her head, her curls bouncing as she waves me off. “Stop, Gen, you’re not allowed to compliment me on your wedding day.”
“Yeah, well, I’m already married.” I hold up the glittery emerald-cut infinity band I’ve been wearing every day since it was given to me while still behind bars.
This was Ford’s idea, but I didn’t object when he said he wanted to renew our vows.
Although, the idea of a wedding was off-putting, and the only thing worse was going to be the planning part, which is why Ford did it all himself.
But in trusting him, I suspect this is going to be the wedding of my dreams.
When he said that I could wear whatever I wanted, and not a standard white dress, that was simply another sign that allowing Ford to take charge is always a good idea.
She passes me the small bouquet of cherry blossoms, peonies and tiger lilies that she was holding for me, her eyes glassy. “I’m really hap—” Her voice cracks, and she giggles. “These damn pregnancy hormones are getting to me.”
My own throat grows tight, only making it harder to swallow as Marcus steps forward to finish Corinne’s sentence. “You deserve this happiness, Gen. We’re both glad you and Ford found your way back to each other.”
I smile brightly at my closest friends. The last year or so has somehow only brought us all closer, like having that last missing piece of my soul has healed a wound that was just scabbed over until Ford came back into my life.
It’s been easier to let my friends be part of my everyday, mundane life.
It helps that they’ve become friends with Ford, too.
Once a month, we get together with Corinne, Brett, Marcus, and Drake for cocktails, and it’s one of my favorite new traditions.
Corinne insists that things won’t change even after her baby girl is born, and that she’s just going to bring her along, and I hope she’s right.
I’ll be jumping at every chance I get to snuggle that little angel since Ford and I aren’t going to be expanding our own family further.
Just then, soft piano music begins to play. “I think that’s your cue, guys.”
I take a deep breath and climb the back stairs of the bar. When I reach the top, I find the knot in my throat returning bigger than before, making my eyes water.
The rooftop of the bar where we had our first real date has been completely transformed into a garden with green plants and white flowers everywhere.
The space is like something out of a fairytale dream as six of our friends are seated amid the greenery and flowers, all turned in my direction.
Low, warm lantern lights illuminate the space as the small twinkle lights sprinkled throughout appear as though they’re lightning bugs.
It’s perfectly reminiscent of the way it looked the first time Ford brought me up here, only elevated somehow. It’s official; Ford is the only event planner I’m hiring for the rest of my life.
At the end of the aisle, Ford waits for me, standing there in his Dress Blues, a notecard in his hand.
Next to him, Drake wears the same handsome uniform and a grin that matches Corinne’s on the other side.
My husband turns forty in December, and he’s never looked sexier.
Every version of him has my favorite, though.
As I reach the mouth of the path, I note the way his smooth jaw flexes, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. He holds out a hand for me, and I take it, giving him my heart, soul, and body to protect with his life.
And I know he will.
I’ve never been safer, never been more protected, more at rest than I am when I’m with Ford. Every day, he nourishes my soul, shields me from the rain, and makes my heart race as if we were still those two twenty-year-olds messaging late into the night.
Our love is written into our genetic codes, binding us together. It’s already transcended decades and continents, and I’m confident that it’ll transcend eternity all the same.
“I love you,” I admit after passing Corinne my bouquet, my hands clutched in Ford’s.
“It’d be impossible to love me more than I love you.”
The order of things be damned, I lean forward, pressing my lips to his. He kisses me back with equal fervor, his hand cupping the back of my head.
This might be the best day of my life.
Ford spins me into his arms as the opening keys of the song he chose for our first dance plays, the skirt of my dress fluttering around my ankles. He presses a kiss to my temple, and I lean into him, breathing in his scent that will never be far away again.
“You look nice in your uniform.” I finger the medals adorning his chest before squeezing his upper arm. In truth, he looks better than nice like this; he looks devastating.
His dimple emerges as he grins. This was the way it was always supposed to be.
He fingers the platinum choker that he gave me for our third anniversary. It sits low, just above the base of my neck, and to anyone else, it’s just a piece of jewelry, but to the two of us, it’s a symbol of our deeper connection. A sign of my submission and one that I wear with pride.
“You look absolutely exquisite tonight, Mrs. Crawford.” No matter how many times he calls me that, it’ll never grow old. I feel the same way when he calls me doll.
As 3 Doors Down sings the opening lyrics of “Here Without You,” I giggle, the sound as weightless as I feel. “I still hate this song.”
He chuckles. “Me, too.”
This time, I’m positive that neither of us mean that the way we used to.
I smile, dropping my head to his shoulder as he tucks me into his body. Warmth radiates from his hand that presses against my lower back, my heart fluttering wildly.
Lifting my head, I stare into blue eyes the color of the vast, undulating ocean of my own absolution, the hue of solace and harmony, the shade of endless love. “I’m glad you came back for me.”
He simply tucks a strand of curled hair behind my ear in response. “Come with me,” he instructs me, tugging me in the direction of the cake.
“Take love shots with us,” Drake shouts from across the rooftop, trying to get our attention. “We can’t drink all of these alone.”
Ford waves him off and murmurs in my ear, “He looks like he doesn’t need any help in the love or alcohol department.”
He’s right; it doesn’t. The two women hanging off his arm, staring adoringly into his eyes seem to have the tequila rose more than covered themselves.
Ford tugs me to the back corner of the rooftop, behind the table with the tiered, white-frosted cake that I’m desperate to cut into. On the low-topped table sits a large piece of paper stamped with the words Certificate of Marriage stamped across the top in black ink.
I glance up at him with curiosity, and he explains, “I thought you might like to sign your own marriage certificate. You know, with your real signature, of your own volition.”
This isn’t something I’d given any thought to whatsoever, perfectly content to live as we have been, even if it wasn’t technically legal. I wouldn’t change a single thing about our story.
Without a second thought, I reach for the pen and scrawl my name at the bottom, using my maiden name for legal purposes.
“How are you going to file this?” The forgery was good enough to grant me a new Social Security card and driver’s license—not that I use that for driving anywhere myself these days. James does most of that for me.
He smirks, taking the pen from me to sign his own name. “I know a guy.”
Rolling my eyes, I laugh, sure that I probably know the guy, too. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I tell him honestly, “Thank you.”
“I’d do anything for my wife, you know that.”
I grin up at him. “A romantic jailbreak proved that.”
The ambient sounds and lights from the rest of the bar fade into obscurity as he captures my lips, sealing us together, without any secrets or lies that could tear us apart.